Steps Stufen
by Rajana
Summary: My approach at Max and Logan and the photos from Pollo Loco. And what if there'd been another poem on the backside of Somebody's Angel? Just a spur of the moment scribbling. Is there such a thing as a poemfic?


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**_Disclaimer:_**_ Not mine, never were, never will be. Just borrowing everything._

**_A/N:_**_ This is my approach on something that could have happened during I&I&A Camera, but it's set in the future. I hope that's not too confusing. I wrote this staying home sick and because I've been thinking about something recently. It's not been beta-ed and English is still not my first language, but I'm posting it anyway just for the fun of it. Here you go, enjoy!_

**Steps**

Looking back now it all seemed so stupid.

Logan remembered well how he couldn't help but stare at the photos. The photos Lydecker had given him. Photos of Max, Max who'd been killing.

Had it really only been a few days ago that they'd sat together here, in his apartment, during the brown-out and he'd shown her the poem? The poem he'd written for her when he'd thought he'd lost her. When he'd sent her away, had taken her and Zack to his family's cabin.

Smiling quietly, Logan wheeled to the same spot they'd occupied that evening. It all seemed more than a lifetime ago.

Max stood in the doorway, watching Logan and wondering what he was thinking about. He was smiling, so it couldn't be bad thoughts. He still hadn't noticed her and so he let the memories come.

If he'd written this about her, she'd asked, referring to the poem. Trying to not let the feeling of vulnerability overwhelm him, he'd said it depended and asked if she hated it. When she'd said it was alright, he'd admitted that it was about her. Of course it was about her. About who else would he write poems like that?

When she'd stood up and left, he'd known that it had been too much too soon. She hadn't been ready to hear it.

Then he'd learnt about the murders, about Ben who'd supposedly been killed and then about Ben killing. Full of worry for her he'd contacted Lydecker. Now it seemed a really stupid idea, but what had he been supposed to do? So he had contacted him as Eyes Only and Lydecker had left the photos for him in the contact room.

_She's not the girl next door. You have no idea what she's capable of doing._

How many hours, days, even weeks had this words clung in his ears? In a very negative way. He'd only discovered much later that the words as such weren't implying the negative meaning Lydecker had given them. Of course Max wasn't the girl next door. She'd never be. She was special and incredible and different from anybody he'd got to know. Ever.

And what she was capable of doing – at that time she herself didn't know that, he assumed. Only through the events around the siege of Terminal City she'd risen higher than she'd ever thought possible and had accomplished more than she'd ever wanted. Lydecker had been right, with his words, but not the way he'd meant it.

If he'd only known that then.

He'd continued to think about this pictures until Snuffy's murder and Phil had kept him busy enough to forget about it for a while, but it had all been coming back the night Max had told him to let it slide. To not ruin his family but to keep the money to continue the fight. It had been so much like before, when he hadn't been thinking of the pictures every time he saw her. But then it had all come crushing back when she'd asked, "What's been going on with you the last weeks? You've really been acting strange and…"

Logan had inhaled deeply, knowing it was time to admit it. If he ever wanted things to be normal between them again, if he ever wanted to continue flirting with her, he had to be honest. Finally.

Slowly he wheeled to the desk in his office and pulled the file with the photos out. Carrying it on his lap while returning to Max in the living room, he handed it over without saying a word.

She took the folder and pulled the photos out. Surprise was on her face, then a knowing, understanding nod.

Standing up, she put everything back and gave Logan the file. "I understand," she said. "I better go."

Logan didn't know what to do, didn't know what was right, but then he called out for her, quietly, not more than a whisper. "Max, don't… I…"

Max stopped, turned around and as if remembering she pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. "I'm sorry that I took this without asking, but it meant so much to me… so… anyway, you should maybe read the poem on the back again. Not the one about me, but the other one. I've made my steps, Logan, I've made so many steps, but you don't seem to see them. I've killed, yes, but I didn't stop there. I moved on, I learnt and I regret. But there's no way to make it undone. If you don't know that much about me, this is not where I should be."

She threw the paper at him and stormed out, slamming the door close with way too much force.

Logan closed his eyes and scratched his head. He knew it had been wrong to contact Lydecker and then not to talk with Max about it, but did she really have to leave? Now and like that?

He slowly wheeled to where the paper had dropped and picked it up. Unfolding it, he recognized it as the page from his scrapbook with the poem he'd let Max read. Somebody's angel. He turned it around and found out that she was right. There was another poem on the back side. Not one of his, but one he scribbled down there, the night before the operation, the night he'd thought he'd lost Max, the night in which he thought everything would have to change.

He read it again now.

"Steps

As every blossom fades  
and all youth sinks into old age,  
so every life's design, each flower of wisdom,  
attains its prime and cannot last forever.  
The heart must submit itself courageously  
to life's call without a hint of grief,  
A magic dwells in each beginning,  
protecting us, telling us how to live.

High purposed we shall traverse realm on realm,  
cleaving to none as to a home,  
the world of spirit wishes not to fetter us  
but raise us higher, step by step.  
Scarce in some safe accustomed sphere of life  
have we establish a house, then we grow lax;  
only he who is ready to journey forth  
can throw old habits off.

Maybe death's hour too will send us out new-born  
towards undreamed-lands,  
maybe life's call to us will never find an end  
Courage my heart, take leave and fare thee well."

He remembered the poem well, it was written by Hermann Hesse, he'd come across it in High school and he'd picked it that night as a reminder that life was full of constant changes. Loosing his parents, getting shot, loosing Max…

Losing Max. Was he losing her again? Because he didn't see that her life was full of changes too? That she'd changed and that the Max Lydecker knew and the Max he knew were completely different persons?

Trying to shrug off the memories with another smile, Logan realized that Max was watching him.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, coming over and hugging him from behind.

"About steps," he answered. "I just remembered what a moron I've been about those pictures Lydecker gave me."

Max laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "Yes, you have. But you came over to my place, you apologized and you cooked me a great dinner. And you know I don't bear a grudge. Even though I'd have killed you if you'd done something like that again."

"Never did, never will," he promised and pulled her onto his lap. "So, how are you?" he asked.

Max smiled. "_I_ you or _we_ you? 'Cause I'm just on the okay range while the little one seems to be doing great."

Logan kissed her gently and let his hand travel to her swollen tummy, pulling it away in surprise when he felt the unborn kicking.

"Practicing steps, I'd say," Max said and kissed him back.

"Yeah," Logan nodded. "Practicing steps."

**- End -**

**_Another A/N:_**

_As you might have learnt from my endless ramblings about the horror of watching dubbed DA episodes I consider the original in the original language the best version of everything, be it TV series, books or, in this case, poems. So here's the original version of the poem. IMO it's way better than the English translation._

_Stufen__ (Hermann Hesse)_

_Wie jede Blüte welkt und jede Jugend  
dem Alter weicht, blüht jede Lebensstufe,  
blüht jede Weisheit auch und jede Tugend  
zu ihrer Zeit und darf nicht ewig dauern.  
Es muss das Herz bei jedem Lebensrufe  
bereit zum Abschied sein und Neubeginne,  
um sich in Tapferkeit und ohne Trauern  
in andre, neue Bindungen zu geben.  
Und jedem Anfang wohnt ein Zauber inne,  
Der uns beschützt und der uns hilft zu leben._

_Wir sollen heiter Raum um Raum durchschreiten,  
an keinem wie an einer Heimat hängen,  
der Weltgeist will nicht fesseln uns und engen,  
er will uns Stuf' um Stufe heben, weiten.  
Kaum sind wir heimisch einem Lebenskreise  
und traulich eingewohnt, so droht Erschlaffen.  
Nur wer bereit zu Aufbruch ist und Reise,  
mag lähmender Gewöhnung sich entraffen._

_Es wird vielleicht auch noch die Todesstunde  
uns neuen Räumen jung entgegen senden,  
des Lebens Ruf an uns wird niemals enden...  
Wohlan denn, Herz, nimm Abschied und gesunde._


End file.
